So why have I started this blog?
When I lived in Paris I met a number of British women, then becoming quite elderly, who had married Frenchmen and moved to live in France between the wars. Some of them had the most amazing stories to tell, but nobody was recording them. Their stories may have died with them.
Later we returned to live in a small city in England which meant walking our dog along streets, through a cemetery and down to the river. As we walked through the cemetery, again I wondered about all the people buried there and the stories they had to tell.
As a result of those two experiences, I have been encouraging my mother to write down her memories, partly to give her an interest and partly for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She has had a very interesting life but I'm not sure that she sees it that way.
As I typed up her account of her time in Africa, it made me start to think about and question my own life. I'm hoping this blog will chart the processes I go through as I put down my thoughts.